Going Home

June 7, 2020

When the sun is shining and the thermometer reads 60 or above, it’s time to ditch four wheels for three. Riding to church this morning was glorious! Backroads at 45 mph are just the ticket; I can enjoy the scenery, smell the fragrance of the locusts in full bloom, notice little things that are missed at 55 or more. People outside working waved cheerful greetings as I drove by, no face masks required. If there were no media to fan the flames of discontent, it would be possible to believe the old saying, “God is in his heaven; all is right with the world.” The first part is true, the second sadly, is not.

Cities lie smoldering, police are under siege by mobs, media, and politicians, and trust in the societal contract that binds us together as a nation has been shattered. Just this weekend in Chicago, 92 people were shot, 27 fatally, none by the police. In Buffalo, after two officers were arrested for pushing a professional agitator who had been asked by other protesters to leave, cops resigned en masse from the special unit designed to handle protests and riots. All across the country, we are seeing similar events playing out, and we wonder how it will all end up.

Meanwhile, I ride on, soaking up the sunshine, drinking deeply from the well of beauty all around me, knowing countless others annoy escape their surroundings which are anything but peaceful. It’s tempting to feel guilty about the blessings that I enjoy which so many others never have the opportunity to experience until I remember the words of my Cuban friend Willie Santiago. Years ago when we first learned of his work in Cuba, he would tell us, “Don’t feel guilty about your blessings. Thank God for them, and enjoy them.” This, coming from someone who experienced deprivation and persecution such as we had never known. There was no shaming, no guilt-mongering, just the exhortation to give thanks.

For the first time in three months, at the end of my ride I had the privilege of leading worship in person, face to face with my brothers and sisters in Dunkirk. It is hard to put into words what it meant to me to see each one, to look them in the eyes, to serve them communion. I am grateful for the technology that enabled us to stay somewhat connected and to worship online, but online pales in comparison to the real thing. It is impossible to be fully Christian by yourself. We need one another, and for the first time in months, it felt like I was finally home again. The text for today’s sermon expresses what I feel today:

“When the LORD brought back the captivity of Zion, 

We were like those who dream. 

Then our mouth was filled with laughter, 

And our tongue with singing.” —Psalm 126:1-2 NKJV

I sang today as I have not sung since before Easter, and it was wonderful!